


Killian

by Olorisstra



Series: New York Limerence [4]
Category: Boondock Saints (Movies), Original Work
Genre: Don't get into this series if you mind gay feels, Gen, Implied Violence, Life spans that can cover centuries if you avoid getting killed long enough, Not chronological in order, Some description of doled out violence because Brynhyldr, Some gay feels, There are no McManus in this fic except for a throwaway line be forewarned, They are very very mild here, This is the Killian show, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 22:34:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4683839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Olorisstra/pseuds/Olorisstra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Irish and angry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Killian

**Author's Note:**

> Shraen's fic still, just the translator still, waiting on her AO3 invitation code still.

1927  
"We've got them, the whore sons who burned down the Church!" Had declared triumphantly Mary O'Flanagan's only burn-less son.

"All of them?" Had asked dour, almost growling, the youngest of the Kings, the one who had only recently arrived and to whom everyone already listened, whenever he talked.

"Yes, the three coppers and the seven civilians." The boy, maybe Nolan or Nevan, had answered deferentially.

"Kill them." The young King had ordered, without consulting the others. No one had shown dissent, two of the others had even nodded vigorously, the third had a dangerous spark in the set of his eyes and his expression had become harsher.

"Which ones?" Had asked the boy, uncertain, because you couldn't go about killing coppers lightly, as retaliation inevitably followed. 

"All, kill them all." The answer had come in an almost granted tone, with a note of bored obviousness.

The third of the others, the ancient King, gave a ferocious smile this time. Nolan, or Nevan, had fled from the room and down the stairs, anxious to obey as much as he was to escape from that attic in a three stores hovel, in one of the poorest Irish slums in Belfast.

* * *

1948  
Cole had just concluded a forty-five minutes long exposition on the tactical situation as it stood after the last few developments. The war with the vampires was reaching far too widespread proportions to keep it hidden from the humans much longer.

"So, what do we want to do?“ Had asked Sam, after granting a few minutes long recession, his gaze slipping past Killian.  
Pincho had noticed it. And because he had to talk, because keeping his mouth shut wasn't into his nature, he had butted in.

"For Kill'em all here's the answer!" He had said, proud of his jest, and probably looking to get a nice brawl going. The joke was atrocious, but Killian was going to willingly and generously gift him with a few fond punches.

* * *

1931  
Brynhildr was busy beating on two of the new cubs; read: she was using Nevan and Thorne to clean the floor.   
The two males were grunting, growling and frothing at the mouth, driven to fury. It mattered none. A third youngster joined the brawl, a guy named Rogan that would have died soon. 

"Since --" A punch broke a jaw neatly, "You are doing --" Another crackling sound spread in the courtyard along with shin-bone shards, "Shit all, why --" Another dull sound of bones while a wrist was being turned abruptly. "Don't you give me a hand?"

Brynhyldr had no need for the help she was asking for, so Killian jumped over the fighting jumble.

"Kill them all." He shot back, without stopping, barely turning his head as he heard the tell-tale sound of hearts skipping a beat and smelled the familiar scent of fright.  
He almost smiled.

* * *

1949  
"Kill'em all is the way they call you, right?" The tiny vampire had asked him one evening, with his sugarcandy voice, all dimples and honeyed smiles.

"Want me to put that in action?" Had growled with a dour expression Kill. He wasn't bothered, usually, but it sounded almost ironic now, he didn't appreciate irony coming from a vampire.

He would have liked to ask if the vampire wanted Killian to put his gun where the vampire's mouth was but for any sexual predator, and this one more than any other, it would have been the kind of sexual provocation you couldn't offer and walk away unscathed from.

"Aw, stoppit! It's not nice to threaten someone, threatening is always someth-"

"I've already had my lesson on threats, I make promises." He had cut the other short, less annoyed with the tiny vampire, and in a darker mood.

"Then make sure you can make good on them." The boy had answered, with a sweet and less artificial smile; his voice less shrill and more silky. "Kill'em all... It's not bad, and they don't say it lightly..." He had gone on, in the same tone, that now had turned almost comforting.

It was ridicolous, Killian had gotten up and left.

* * *

1935  
The warehouse had been designated as a detention zone, but eleven prisoners were starting to be too much to keep silent, feed and keep from rallying together.

"They are too many to deal with, they are useless to us, we need to get rid of them..." It had been one of the youngsters who had talked, but he was undeniably right.

"Let's kill 'em all." Had proposed Killian at that point, because to stay there and discuss would have changed nothing, what they needed was someone with the backbone to say what had to be said and do it too, in case. He had every intention of deal with it personally, he had even lenghtened the claws on his right hand, to make it clear.

"He's really keeping that nickname up..." Had whispered Sam to Arthur, with a sarcastic half-smile. They had heard that line often, since the lican had disembarked.  
That week it was twice already, and it was only Wednesday.

* * *

1993  
Throwing open the house's door, the blond wardrobe of a norseman stopped to take in the shameful scene that was presenting itself to his sight.  
A vampire crumpled on his own arms, head down, with his smooth blond hair, waterfall-like, on his face, sleeping in the middle of the pack's couch, in a yoga position and the supposed Alpha of said pack, sprawled on his personal couch, with a great, snoring, giant bunny, curled up on his chest.

“Kill’em all my ass…”

* * *

1968  
"What do you think?" He had asked Dany, offering him a Guinness and his own cigarette.

"I find certain similarities..." Had answered the vampire, smiling in an all-knowing way.

"Why? Because they're Irish?" Already fondly exasperated he had barely kept himself from rolling his eyes upward, but he had still offered an ironic half-smile back.

"Not only that, I was thinking more about style. They kill 'em all too..." Had answered Dany, giggling and emptying his beer, before he breathed in a pull from Killian's cigarette.  
And so the McManus had become part of Killian's pack.

* * *

1907  
“… and not if, but when you make enemies, first use them, taking care to prevent them from damaging you, then when you are done with them, there is only one thing left to do." He was looking at him, with his icy, stunning grey eyes. He wanted an answer. Or, better, being His Grace, he wanted the right answer.

“Kill them all.” He had said with a self-assured smirk, because he was really good at that.

**Author's Note:**

> Shraen doesn't know how long this fic is going to be, but you are free to ask things about Killian, though we cannot guarantee when or how your questions will be answered.


End file.
